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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829490">Simon Has Been Slain</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Adventure Time</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Horror, Alternate Universe - Human, Blood and Gore, F/F, Happy Halloween!, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Murder Mystery, Thisll be ongoing all month, Tragedy, cw for gore just. all the way through, its already written but im still gonna update in increments for fun</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-08</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:21:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,748</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26829490</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Before the sun could rise on the morning of October 3rd, 1987, a professor is slain in his own apartment. As those close to him point fingers, the bodies pile up. Time is not on Bonnibel's side. (Human AU)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Jake the Dog/Lady Rainicorn, Princess Bubblegum/Marceline</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Cold Open</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>It was early. The sun wasn't even up yet. Simon always woke up before the sun, whether he wanted to or not. It was a habit, one that he had decided would serve no good to break. He got up at an unholy hour, he took his "coffee" (hazelnut creamer with a splash of espresso,) and waited for Betty to wake up before leaving for the day. That particular morning, however, Dr. Grof wasn't home. She had spent the last couple of weeks in another state on business and was only just on her way back. Last the two had spoken, she was still five hours out, but he wasn't quite sure how long ago that was. He'd been half asleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Raindrops tapped on the roof and windows, and light thunder rolled in the sky. He figured he would dust or something, that way Betty could come home to a neat apartment. There wasn’t much to do but dust, it had only been him for two weeks and even then he wasn’t home too often. He was a workaholic, well known to fall asleep for the night at the university. He played music as he dusted, not really paying attention to what he put on, just whatever he picked up first. The record crackled with age. His body swayed slightly to the music as he thoroughly dusted every trinket, collectible, and antique that lined the walls of their small apartment. Simon’s focus was not an easy thing to break and though that definitely was a helpful trait in his trade, it was soon to betray him. Simon did not hear someone very, very quietly slide a key into the locked deadbolt, he did not hear them creeping softly across the bare hardwood, and he did not hear them sneak up carefully behind him. They tapped him on the shoulder gently, just enough to pull him from his cleaning spree.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Marceline?” He asked as he had assumed she was the only one aside from himself and Betty with a key to his apartment. He took the needle off of his record and turned around to face the intruder. His face twisted in confusion. “You’re not Marcy!” The stranger brandished a knife, and Simon was quick to react. He stumbled to the front door, aiming for the phone at the front desk in the lobby of the complex to call the police, or at the very least get someone's attention. To his terror, the door was still locked and he did not have time to get his key.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Simon Petrikov was slain at 6:02 am on Saturday, October the third, in the year 1987. He was stabbed six times in the chest. It took him forty-five long minutes to die, and three even longer hours before Betty Grof could return home to find what was left of him. Simon’s killer is now at large.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. I</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Four days had passed since Simon was murdered, and no one was any closer to finding a killer. Despite the crime being committed at rush hour, no one had seen anyone go in or out of the couple’s apartment. Dr. Elizabeth Grof, at long last home from a particularly draining book tour, had found him dead in the kitchen two weeks from their wedding day. She refused to sleep in their apartment, opting to stay in a hotel in the next city for the foreseeable future. The idea of sleeping in that bed without him at her side was too much for her to bear, not with the wound still so fresh. During a murder investigation, when a loved one is asked why anyone would want the victim dead, of course, they would say they couldn’t imagine. They were such a good person, their smile lit up the room, et cetera. In this case, that was painfully true. Simon Petrikov, though tough as nails when need be, was a gentle, good-natured individual. He was an innocent soul, with a sort of sweet naivete and a pitiful fragility that made it difficult to be angry with him. Although he could be unintentionally callous and wasn’t the most socially capable, he was still a charmingly sweet person. He spent most of his time either in his apartment with his girlfriend, studying at the university he worked for, or at the home of Marceline Abadeer, for whom he served as a sort of surrogate father. He simply didn’t get into trouble.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Marceline Abadeer was Bonnibel’s girlfriend. As such, she herself had spent a decent amount of time around the victim. Hearing that he had died was already a depressing surprise. Hearing that he had been brutally murdered, gutted, had been deeply rattling. She had seen the red and blue lights that morning and a body being carried away under one of those white tarps on her way to school, and though her skin did prickle at the sight, she ultimately brushed it off. There were 133 units in that building. Anything could happen.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Marceline wouldn’t be at school that morning, and Bonnibel had been tempted to stay back and be there for her herself. Marcy didn’t deal with negative emotions well, treating anything less than boundless joy as anger. Bonnie knew that she didn’t deal well with grief, and without Simon, all she had left as far as a parent was her father. No one got along with Hunson, least of all Marcy. Taking what she knew about the man, she could paint a very vivid mental picture of a pitiful attempt at comforting Marceline, one that ended with her slapping him away and locking herself in her childhood bedroom to cool off. Hunson had disappeared when Marceline was born, and couldn’t be bothered to come back for her when her mother passed. Simon, a family friend, had stepped up and taken in Marceline as his own. The two men had resented each other deeply but kept that hatred to themselves for Marceline’s sake. Hunson came back for Marceline when she was 12, and though Simon fought to keep her, the judge ruled that Hunson was not only both mentally and financially fit to take her, but that it was also his name on the birth certificate. Now that Marceline was 17, she had little to do with Hunson if she could help it. She technically lived with him, but he was always away and Simon, having not quite grasped that she could take care of herself yet, stayed over a lot. Now that source of comfort was gone, and Marceline only had her rotten, deadbeat father.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Bonnie was slumped over her desk, thinking deeply about Marceline. She had American History for her first period or something like that. Something she couldn’t care less for. Her face was buried in her arms, and one couldn't be blamed for assuming she was asleep. A gentle tap on her shoulder pulled her back down to Earth and she sat up. Finn. There was a somberness to him, one that shook her to her core given how endlessly cheerful he usually was. He had been fairly close friends with Simon and was almost a little brother to Marceline, and the fact that he was even at school that day was surprising. Finn was known to skip school for any excuse that came his way, and that he would show up after something so tragic was strange. He rubbed the back of his arm and shifted his eyes. He was awkward with emotions, but his presence was still a comforting one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finn was a dumb kid, he was a reckless kid, but he was a good kid. His mother was a mystery, his father was deadbeat, and the couple who had adopted him were angels in the ground. He was left in the care of one of his older brothers, Jake, who was remarkably good at keeping problems from him. Bonnie was one of his oldest friends. She had lived next door to him since forever and despite her being older, she played with him while Jake was asleep or at the store. Finn had always been great at making friends, at making close ones, especially. He was just a social magnet, she supposed. He slid into the desk next to her, not saying anything. That was the only time Finn stopped talking when something was wrong. He just stared ahead.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Unfortunately, the desk next to her belonged to LSP. No one seemed to know much about her, and she was Finn’s polar opposite. She was loud, rude, and swung from rude and callous to emotional and teary with no real rhyme or reason. She routinely came into class thirty minutes late with a frilly coffee and ripped up tardy notes in the teacher’s face. She was not well-liked, but Finn, being the unstoppable force of good he was, somehow still made friends with her. She did appear to care about him, at least to some extent, but she didn’t seem to be in the mood to express it just then.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Out of my way." She shoved Finn away from the desk, kicking his things to the side and dropping her own bag on the ground next to her. Bonnie watched Finn clench and unclench his fists as LSP swiped through her phone, popping her gum. Finn growled lowly, before going to sit on the desk on the other side of Bonnie. He rested his chin on the desk, letting his arms fall to the side.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"This sucks," was all he said before the bell rang and class began. The teacher’s words went straight through her skull, her thoughts and worries shifting back to Marceline.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Saying Marceline’s mother had just passed away wasn’t true, either. She was murdered in the RV they’d lived in when Marcy was young, and Marcy had watched it happen. Though the stack of suspects was tall, no one was ever so much as arrested for the crime. There was no way she was okay right now.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>It wasn’t even ten minutes into the day before Bonnie was gathering up her things and mumbling that she was off to use the bathroom before darting out of the room and booking it on her bike to the Abadeer home. The house was large and imposing, the outside painted a dark grey with black accents and red crushed-velvet drapes visible in the windows. That was another infuriating thing about Hunson- the man was loaded. Marceline’s mother could barely afford their ratty old trailer, much less a baby. Hunson could have eased so much stress from that poor woman’s shoulders but had instead opted to stay out of her life, waiting until he thought Marceline would be easier to care for before ripping her from the arms of someone who </span>
  <em>
    <span>actually cared</span>
  </em>
  <span>. Passing through the front door, she found she had been right- The house was a wreck. Curtains were ripped down, glass was broken, and tables were overturned. At the heart of the wreckage was a trembling Marceline, holding Hambo close to her chest for dear life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"I hate him," Marceline said. She sounded as though she had tried to steady her tone before speaking, but was still suppressing sobs. "Hunson is the worst and I hate him and I hope he dies." Bonnibel knelt down beside her. Comforting had never been a strong point for her, never like this, and the best she could think to do was let her head fall gently onto Marceline's shoulder, listening to her shaky breaths as the space between her sobs grew more and more until she finally stopped crying. "I'm not cleaning this up. It's his dumb house." Bonnie kissed her on the side of her head. “I wanna go to your place, Bonnie. I’m not waiting around here for my dad to come downstairs.” </span>
</p><p>
  <span>‘Yeah, of course. Let’s go.” Bonnie lived in a cabin with her aunt, Lolly. There was no dramatic story there. It just worked out like that. Whenever possible, Marceline hung around there, too, taking any excuse to be out of Hunson’s house. Neither girl said anything on the bike ride there. Both of them fit comfortably onto Bonnie’s bike, with Marcy tightly holding onto her waist. She had Hambo’s long arms tied around her shoulders, secured with one of Bonnie’s spare ponytail holders so it didn’t fly away in the breeze. She wasn’t letting that bear out of her sight anytime soon. No sooner than the two walked in the front door, the phone rang. Bonnie got to it well before her aunt could.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Bubs dig,"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Hey, Bons. Marceline there?"</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finn leaned against the wall of the nurse's office with his arms crossed, the receiver stuck between his ear and shoulder. The only reason he'd even bothered with school that day was to see Marceline- who hadn't even shown. Okay. Calling her house first ran the risk of Mr. Abadeer picking up, a frustratingly awkward occasion he did </span>
  <em>
    <span>not</span>
  </em>
  <span> want a repeat of. He had made up an excuse to get sent to the nurse’s office so he could get close to a phone, and planned on just up and leaving instead of going back to class. Mostly he just wanted to walk the shock off, but not before getting a chance to talk to Marceline, at least to make sure she was okay. Unsurprisingly, Bonnie had beat him to it.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Yeah, I’ll grab her.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>There was shuffling and distant conversation before a particularly croaky Marceline answered the phone. “Sup, Finn.” When something terrible happened and someone asked Finn if he was doing okay, he got annoyed. Something terrible had happened, what did they expect him to say? He never started with that. He always started with what he could do for them. The news that morning had messed him up, definitely, but he’d always powered through grief, even when he’d lost his parents he barely shed a tear, instead opting to help Jake and Jermaine through the loss the best he could, especially given how young he’d been. Nothing bothered him… At least, he didn’t let anything bother him. He just punched his worries down until he was sure they wouldn’t come back up. That didn’t sound healthy, on second thought.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Need anything?” No, that sounded too harsh. “I mean like- is there anything I can get for you? You can sleep at my place. I mean, I dunno why you’d wanna do that, but you can. I can bring you food o-or-” He prattled on, barely listening to himself, before stopping himself in his tracks. “Sorry, Marceline. This isn’t helping. I’ll be quiet. Zip.” He made a motion as though he was zipping his mouth shut and flicking away the key. Marceline forced a laugh, and it was painfully obvious her soul wasn’t in it. There were a few long seconds of grating silence. “I’m sorry, Marcy. I hope they catch the guy so I can grind his guts.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"That's sweet, Finn. I… hope they find him too." Marceline then hung up. That was more than alright, if she didn't want to talk, then she shouldn't. He didn't either. Finn put the receiver back on the hook and walked straight out of the nurse's office and out of the school.  He wandered off towards the empty football field, his sneakers squishing in the muddy grass. It had been storming all morning. Fitting. He perched on one of the top bleachers, letting the cold fall rain roll down the back of his neck. He closed his eyes and faced the sky for a few moments before the clanking of footsteps on the bleachers drew him out of his thoughts. He looked up to see his visitor, and waved, casually as ever.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>"Oh, hey. Didn't think anyone else would be out here." He paused for a second. "Sorry about earlier, it was j-" He didn't get a chance to finish that thought before a pair of hands were clasped tightly around his throat. He scratched at the assailant, begging to be let go until there was a soft pop, the sound of his spine cracking apart. Finn stopped blinking and went slack, finally quieting down. The killer, satisfied, dropped him and began shoving his body under the bleachers, his bones cracking and contorting to fit.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Finn Mertens was dead and even worse, he was discovered by BMO who had snuck out to draw in the rain. As one might expect, they did not take this discovery well.</span>
</p><p> </p>
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